Feet On The Table
by MekQuarrie
Summary: Mulder walks into a bar in the middle of nowhere. But secrecy is not topmost in his mind... :: Chapter 10 of 'The Lake Peary Mystery'


**Feet On The Table**

Mulder walked into the bar and sat at the counter. Despite the fact it was obviously an old railroad car, it had a feeling of space. There were a couple of dozen customers, mainly men, chatting at tables and conspiring in booths. Behind the counter, a young man with red hair and a checked shirt was arranging a limited selection of whisky bottles on a shelf. "Be with you in a second, buddy," he said over his shoulder.

Mulder wondered who was most in danger at this moment; Scully at the local morgue or he himself with this motley selection of traders and lumberjacks.

"Hey, welcome to Traders. You new here? What can I get you?" The barkeep seemed friendly and intelligent.

"Yeah. Passing thru really. Just looking to catch some of the local wild-life." Mulder wondered how much he needed to discuss their ludicrous mission.

"What are you trying to catch? Most of the wildlife is hibernating at the moment. Shooting a few snow-hares maybe? Makes a nice stew, I'm told."

"Um, no. Not catching in the hunting sense. We're just watching out. Wildlife in general."

"Sure. Most of the tourists we get here are bird enthusiasts. Why else would you come here? A lot of species heading off to Europe or the odd thing heading down to the States." The barkeep whipped his glass cloth onto the counter. "You want the wine list? Or will a bottle of beer do you?"

Mulder smiled. "That's fine. I assume you don't get a lot of call for cocktails round here."

The barkeep laughed briefly. "You assume right. You can mix your drink with Scotch or rye if you really have to."

"Solly!" A group of old men were huddled in the corner smoking furiously. It was not clear where the voice had come from, but taking his cue the barkeep nodded to Mulder before turning to the shelf of bottles. He selected a particularly potent looking spirit and walked it down to the clouded table. There was a brief exchange of conversation before he returned.

"Local characters?" Mulder was intrigued by the mixture of traditional and modern clothing.

"Yeah. Eskimo chiefs or whatever they have. Don't like to be called 'Indians' anyway." Solly kept talking but cleared some of the glasses from the tables near Mulder.

"I don't even think Native Americans like that any more." Mulder sipped his beer, planning to keep a clear head.

"Oh yeah. No offence. Gotta keep up with the times. You're not looking for the monster are you?" Solly carried the glassware in the fingers of both hands to the grubby little sink behind the counter.

Mulder looked up carefully. "Oh. Did you say 'monster'?"

"We get bird enthusiasts, photographers, film-makers. They visit once or twice a year. They say they're looking for one thing, but they're all looking for the monster. We all want to touch a piece of a legend."

Mulder laughed quietly. "Yes. We're looking for a monster. Going to take some snaps to show the folks back home." It seemed genuinely funny to him.

"The old guy with the movie reel still lives here. He used to visit now and again. But I think now he's retired or somethin'. Stays here pretty much all the year. Doesn't drink though, so I don't see him around."

"I'm not sure who you're talking about. To be honest I'm only here to assist my colleague. She's a doctor and she's going to look at some animal remains. A bit of a favor for another friend."

"Sounds strange." Solly started to think aloud. "I heard some sled-dogs went missing. We all figured it was wolves."

"Okay. That's probably what it is. She has this thing about medical injuries. I think she must be writing a paper or something. Hauling me up here to watch her back."

"Don't worry. The only thing dangerous up here is the weather. Are you a body-guard then?"

Mulder smiled. That wasn't such a bad way to look at things, although Scully would never have asked for his protection. "I'll be honest with you, Solly. I'm a police officer during daylight hours. But that means I'm pretty much off-duty for the next few weeks."

Mulder had his badge to hand so he showed it briefly to Solly. The barkeep looked a little amused, a little surprised.

"You're a Fed?" he asked.

"Don't worry. I'm not interested in your tax affairs; I'm sure they're all in good order. I'm just here to look after my friend."

"You carrying? You got a piece on you?" Solly seemed childishly interested in his newest visitor. He stood two bottles of beer on the counter and popped the tops single-handedly.

"Oh. We had to check our side-arms at Albany. Something about guns on planes." Mulder took a swig from his second beer. That would have to be his last of the evening.

Solly nodded. "That's a shame. We're quite responsible here. About five guns apiece in some parts of the country. You know…" Solly leaned forward conspiratorially. "If you need some heat, I can see what I can do."

Mulder did not know what to think. "Maybe a harpoon? If we're chasing a sea monster?"

Solly laughed, understanding. "I get it. Sure. But if you have any enforcement duties that might arise?"

"Oh, I know where to come." Mulder smiled.

"I keep a hunting rifle over there by the bottles." Mulder noted a long low box locked under the shelving. Certainly not ready for instant use.

"No baseball bat? That's an American staple." Mulder wondered how safe the bar staff could feel out here so far from the usual authorities.

"There's a billy club beside the sink," said Solly. "That's all I need to keep the locals in line. They very rarely get above the level of shouting."

Mulder reached for the third bottle. "Well, thank you, Solly. I'm happy to say this is the safest I've felt in a very long time."

The door crashed open behind him. Solly's eyes opened in surprise. "Ah," he said. "Trouble."


End file.
